


The Doctor And The Magizoologist

by whovianmuse



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whovianmuse/pseuds/whovianmuse
Summary: He hadn’t meant to steal one. Really, he hadn’t. He’d just wandered into the Department of Mysteries by accident. Let his niffler loose in a hall filled with shiny, golden Time-Turners by accident. Conveniently looked the other way when the niffler had successfully shoved one of the small spinning hourglass apparatuses into his pouch and scurried back into Newt’s case. By accident. That’s the story he’d be sticking to, in any case.TL;DR Newt Scamander goes back in time, meets (and is rescued by) the Eleventh Doctor.• • •





	The Doctor And The Magizoologist

            He hadn’t meant to _steal_ one. Really, he hadn’t.

            He’d just wandered into the Department of Mysteries by accident.

            Let his niffler loose in a hall filled with shiny, golden Time-Turners by accident.

            Conveniently looked the other way when the niffler had successfully shoved one of the small spinning hourglass apparatuses into his pouch and scurried back into Newt’s case.

            By _accident_.

            That’s the story he’d be sticking to, in any case.

            Well, _honestly_ , if the Ministry was going to deny his application to go back in time and research magical creatures during the Mesozoic Era, then he had to do _something_.

            So, wand clutched between his teeth, out of breath and shaking from having just sprinted out of the Hall of Prophecies and through the wrought golden grilles of the lift, Newt fumbles with the spiraled chain of the Time-Turner, and gives it a good, hard spin. A test run. The world around him swirls out of sight, figures blurring past him as he’s propelled back at least ten hours in time.

            It’s the night before, and no one will be any the wiser that he’d just stolen one of the most powerful magical objects ever invented. Newt beams with delight.

            Steadying himself, wand at the ready, Newt does a complicated calculation inside his head, and then points his wand at the Time-Turner. The golden rings spin until they’re just a golden blur, and Newt watches as the Ministry collapses brick by brick, building after building taking its place in turn, wood and stone and marble crumbling and rebuilding itself over and over again, rain and hail and fire and smoke swirling around him as billions of years of weather and wear pass before his eyes like a sped-up film, until finally, the world stills, and Newt is left standing in a shallow pool of water, boots sinking into the soft, plushy earth.

            Tentatively, as though he doesn’t quite believe he’s actually done it, Newt opens his eyes. Mountains of tall, swaying trees surround him, in every shade of brilliant, lush evergreen and rich, deep mahogany. The ground below him is a muddy mosaic of dirt, sand, and clay, tufts of grass swallowed in puddles of water from a recent thunderstorm. The wind whips through his hair, the smell of salty sea air and crisp, verdant foliage delighting his senses. Birds trill in a nearby nest, and in the distance, he hears the roar of some unknown magical creature, just waiting to be discovered.

            Newt takes a step forward, prying his boots out of the clutches of thick, suctioning mud, but stops when he hears a horrific screeching sound from overhead, and instinctively ducks as a family of pterodactyls scale the tops of the trees and disappear behind a flock of brachiosaurus grazing on the other side of the watering hole.

            He has done it. He has travelled back in time. Further than any wizard has ever gone before. Completely alone, billions of years away from his home, surrounded by some of the most fearsome creatures known to both wizards and muggles alike. The thought shouldn’t make him smile, but it does.

            He spends the entire day exploring his new surroundings, trudging through forests with humidity so thick it’s hard to breathe, wading into ponds and lakes with his trousers rolled up and tucked into his waterlogged boots, pocketing what he thinks are psittacosaurus eggs and samples of prehistoric frog spawn, running away from gigantic lizards with massive feet and razor-sharp teeth, and hiding from hell pigs and flying boars in the bushes, narrowly missing being eaten by all manner of deadly creatures as he scribbles notes in his new journal, as giddy and gleeful as a child in a candy store.

            He’s just sat himself down at the edge of the ocean and pried open a coconut, all settled in and ready to call it a day and enjoy the sunset, when a troublesome thought occurs to him.

            Time-Turners don’t work in reverse.

            He’d spent _months_ researching the Mesozoic Era. _Weeks_ preparing his argument and his application. _Days_ working out how to break into the Ministry of Magic and steal himself a Time-Turner…but in all of that excitement, he’d never quite considered a contingency plan for getting himself back home.

            _Bugger_.

            An hour passes with Newt quelling a waxing and waning panic attack, thinking longingly of the life he might have had if he hadn’t been so carelessly curious, watching the tide rise and the waves crash against the rocks as he tries to steady his breathing. He hugs his knees to his chest, and brings his head down to rest against them, sighing and shivering in the cold evening air.

            A flash of deep blue ricochets across the horizon, and Newt stands to attention, wondering what on earth it could be.

            A meteor? A solar flare? Dare he think it… _aliens_?

            After ten minutes of staring hard into the distance, willing the flash of color to make an encore appearance, Newt convinces himself that it was just a trick of the light, a hallucination brought on by stress. He fishes another coconut from out of his pocket, cracks it open against a nearby rock, and sighs.

            The sound of metal screeching against wood breaks the silence in a deafening roar, and Newt nearly chokes on a piece of coconut. Wind whips around him in a frenzy, stirring up his tailcoats and making every inch of hair on his body stand to attention. The same deep blue flash he’d seen on the horizon materializes right in front of him, blinking in and out of existence like a faulty concealment charm, until it finally takes form.

            And it’s…a box? A tall, rectangular box, like a small shack complete with windows and doors in a brilliant shade of deep, cobalt blue.

            Newt carefully edges his way up off the ground, clutching his suitcase in one hand, and cradling his half-eaten coconut in the other. He chances the opportunity to get a bit closer, and reads the emboldened text along the top of the double doors.

            It’s… _Merlin’s beard_ , it’s one of those muggle police telephone boxes! How on earth did the muggle police manage to find him here? He’s really gone and gotten himself into trouble this time, if even the muggle police are involved.

            Just then, the double doors swing open and out steps a man dressed almost identically to Newt himself, save for a bright red bowtie just under his chin. Odd sort of attire for a police officer, Newt muses, but he’s hardly one to talk. Before Newt can open his mouth to speak, to talk his way out of a one-way ticket to Azkaban, the police officer has lunged forward and grabbed Newt by the scruff of his jacket, tugging him forward and chastising him like a disappointed parent.

            “Nope! Nope, absolutely not! You are far too important a figure in wizarding history, Mr. Scamander! How did you even manage…? Never mind. Get in. Oh, I do not envy Porpentina in dealing with your nonsense.”

            “Porpen…what?” Newt splutters, struggling to break free as the strange man attempts to cart him off through the double-doors of his police box. He knows it’s pointless to run, but the thought of going to Azkaban frightens him to his very soul.

            “Right. Timelines. You obviously haven’t met Tina yet, or you wouldn’t have run off and done something this stupid,” the police officer says, a small smile spreading across his lips in spite of his apparent irritation with the Magizoologist.

            “Did the Ministry send you? Am I in trouble? I am so, so sorry for taking the Time-Turner. I’ll return it immediately and never go anywhere near the Department of Mysteries ever again, you have my word. Unless… _Merlin’s beard_ , have I somehow corrupted the fabric of time? Are they carting me off to Azkaban?” Newt asks, worrying his lower lip, clearly terrified. At this, the police officer softens, taking pity on him.

            “I’m the Doctor. I’m a time-traveller, and I’m here to rescue you,” the strange man says, heaving a great sigh and releasing his grip on Newt’s arm.

            “I am not with the Ministry,” he elaborates, and Newt visibly relaxes. “Swore I’d never get involved with the magical community after that little tiff with Salazar…but after a debacle like this, I’d be in my right mind to report you.”

            Newt’s eyes grow wide. He swallows thickly.

            “I _should_ , but as one adventurer to another, I won’t,” the Doctor says, offering Newt a mischievous wink and a small, reassuring smile. “No, I’m just here to collect you and drop you back off in your own time. Correct your little Time-Turner mistake, as it were.”

            Then, without warning, the Doctor reaches into the front-most pockets of Newt’s jacket, and produces a handful of large, speckled gray eggs. Newt reaches out for them instinctively, fingertips sweeping over the scaly filigree, but the Doctor slaps them out of his hands, and they fall onto the cushioned, sandy earth.

            “No, you’ll leave those be. I know what’ll happen if you bring those back. I have actually _lived_ through Jurassic Park, and once is enough, thank you,” the Doctor scowls, right hand lingering over a phantom scar at the left elbow patch of this tweed jacket.

            “There’s an entire _park_?” Newt exclaims excitedly, eyes lighting up at the prospect of an entire _playground_ filled with these magnificent creatures. The Doctor rolls his eyes and once again begins tugging him toward the bright blue police box.

            Newt, still thoroughly confused but immensely pleased at the fact that this strange time-travelling wizard has come to his rescue and _isn’t_ sending him off to Azkaban or reporting him to the Ministry, smiles gleefully and drinks in his surroundings hungrily, pelting the Doctor with a myriad of questions as the two of them burst through the double doors.

            “I can’t thank you enough for coming to my rescue, Doctor…Doctor _What_ , exactly? You never specified a surname.”

            “And how exactly did you know I was here?”

            “How did you get here?”

            “Are you a muggle police officer who somehow got hold of a massive Time-Turner, or are you a wizard who’s jinxed a public telephone box?”

            “Did you steal it?”

            “Do you _live_ here?”

            “Is this box actually a giant Time-Turner that the Ministry has kept secret, or did you invent a time-travel spell independent from Time-Turners? If so, cheers to you, that’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. How’d you manage that?”           

            “And your home, it’s so…well, quiet frankly, I don’t care for the way you’ve decorated, but it’s so much bigger on the inside! Just like my case, in fact! Does it have an undetectable extension charm as well? “

            “And your wand! Blimey, I’ve never seen one like it! Couldn’t have come from Ollivander’s. Did Gregorovitch make it special for you? What kind of strange metallic wood is that? Mine doesn’t make that odd buzzing sound, or light up green at the end!”

            But the Doctor doesn’t answer him, merely props him up against a nearby wall and fiddles with the controls until they’re…well, _disapparating_ , Newt supposes, the sound of metal wheezing and grinding, filling this strange gentleman’s magnificent, bigger-on-the-inside home with a deafening clamor. The room spins before him, a swirl of sunlight and sunset, warm hues of orange and gold, cool turquoise and cerulean, dancing before his eyes. Now that he thinks about it, the décor really is quite lovely.

            Newt struggles to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a thing, but the long, exhausting day he’s had, paired with the low, whirring melody of spirals and gears, and the tolling bells humming like singing glass throughout the room are lulling him into a steady slumber. The last thing he remembers is the strange, time-travelling wizard helping him out of the blue box, telling him that he’s sure they’ll meet again someday, and tucking him into bed with a cup of steaming chamomile tea.

            When he wakes, he’s back in his old room, a cool, morning breeze drifting in through his open bedroom window, carrying with it the rush of bustling London traffic in the streets below. His only reminder that yesterday hadn’t been some fantastic dream is a tiny golden Time-Turner perched atop his bedside table, and beside it, a folded note bearing coordinates to a small town in Egypt, and a beautiful drawing of a Thunderbird.


End file.
